


Flicker

by justsomebucky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomebucky/pseuds/justsomebucky
Summary: Canon(ish). Being in a relationship with a superhero is hard work. (my first steve fic!)





	Flicker

**Author's Note:**

> For a challenge, using the song "Flicker" by Niall Horan as inspiration.

You opened one eye slowly, then the other, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness. It was still early, much earlier than you were used to waking, but he’d already left - at least, his side of the bed was cold. A closer look at the smooth sheets suggested that he’d never come to bed at all.

The telltale signs of the needle scratching over his favorite Harry James record (at a low volume of course, because he was always polite like that) had announced his unexpected late arrival the night before. You figured he’d come find you, maybe call out your name softly as he searched each room just to see your face again after so long.

No such luck.

And you could have untangled your legs from your sheets and made your way into the living room to sit with him while he relaxed after a long day of… _whatever_ it was he had done…but you didn’t. You stayed in your darkened bedroom, tangled in the sheets, eyes wide open as you stared at the bedroom door, willing him to walk through it.

It wasn’t a contest.

Neither of you were mad.

Something was just off, something was missing and had been for a while.

When you first met Steve Rogers, you kinda sorta knew who he was already. 

Okay…that was a load of bullshit.

You knew _exactly_ who he was, and that’s precisely why you tried to avoid him. And you didn’t just duck your head or leave the room, either, you flat-out made it clear that you understood what he did as a day job and while you respected the hell out of him, you wanted no part of it.

Your friends thought you were crazy. They wondered how you could possibly turn down the chance to be the girlfriend of one of the most famous men in the world. How could someone turn down handsome Steve Freakin’ Rogers, the original Avenger?

First of all, he would age much, _much_ slower than you. How would that feel to turn look in the mirror one day and see your wrinkled face and grey hair while he still looked like a hot twenty-something?

Second, the danger of it all would keep you up at night with worry. You were already anxious enough, you didn’t need fifty more reasons to want to cry yourself to sleep.

Third, you knew that if you were ever to be with him, you’d be fourth place (at best) in his life, behind the rest of the world, the Avengers, and his unflinching sense of duty.

He tried here and there to use his sincerity, even a little bit of that old-fashioned charm, to take you out for a nice dinner or something. Each time, you gave him a big smile and told him he would meet a lucky lady someday, to save it for her. 

But one day he approached you without all the charm and intensity you’d come to expect, and it was just… _different_.

His eyes were vulnerable, his shoulders drooping…and you weren’t one to swoop in and fix people or anything, but that had just been so out-of-character for him, for Steve _Freakin_ ’ Rogers, that you couldn’t help but put your reservations aside and try to at least be a good friend.

He’d lost so much time and so many people over the years that he became really good at hiding his own pain, but not in front of you. Even though you’d done all you could to avoid this man, for some reason you could read him, and he was hurting so much.

You started letting him in little by little, guarding your own heart while trying to repair his, but it was all for naught.

Steve _Freakin_ ’ Rogers, ya know…

And your feelings were stronger than you could have predicted. 

When it was good, it was _so good_. The beginning, the honeymoon phase when a relationship is shiny and new and everything in the world is right, was probably the happiest you’d ever been in your entire life.

He’d leave from time to time, but it was never for that long at first. He kept you updated on everything he could, even learned how to Facetime for you, and his absence just made your reunions that much sweeter.

Like any cliché romance with a superhero though, the danger grew, and so did Steve’s unwillingness to step aside. That was just another thing you loved about him, though it made your heart sink just like you had predicted.

He was a good man…you couldn’t possibly hold him back from something he was meant to do.

And so each time he went away, he chipped off another piece of you and took it with him, leaving it wherever he ended up and inconveniently forgetting to return it.

Your work suffered. Your health became less-than-stellar, from both lack of sleep and lack of appetite.

Steve would come home and he would notice your state, but you would brush it off and say it was allergies or the neighbors were loud or work was stressing you out. 

You never ever _ever_ wanted to tell him the truth:

You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep being the girlfriend of Steve Freakin’ Rogers.

It made you feel weak; neither of you needed that. He needed you to be strong in the moments he couldn’t be, when he actually found time to come home to you, because he’d spent all his energy and strength on everyone else. You were lucky he was coming home at all; so many others weren’t as fortunate in life.

He bought your excuses at first, or at least he acted like he did.

Worried glances, furrowed brows, and attempts to get you to eat and sleep were all noted but disregarded as you changed the topic and fussed over him.

_Where did that cut come from?_

_What happened to your motorcycle this time?_

_You didn’t call, I was so worried…_

So no, it didn’t surprise you when he didn’t come into the bedroom to greet you, to hold you in his arms like he used to.

The distance was just too far anymore.

He didn’t leave a note before he took off either, something you realized when the first rays of sunshine hit your skin and you finally made your way to the living room.

You ran your fingers over the record player, noticing that he’d put the album back in its sleeve and in its place on the shelf. His leather jacket, not needed in the springtime heatwave, was hanging by the door. It was like he had never been there at all. The room reminded you of that exhibit in the Smithsonian, another pristine tribute to the former life of Captain America right in your own apartment. The difference was, you didn’t have a plaque describing what happened here. There was no video showing highlights of your time with him.

No _note_ …

In the great scheme of things, you felt inconsequential.

None of his possessions made you feel any closer to him. None of them brought you solace on the long nights when you sat up wondering why you weren’t as important as strangers on the street to the man you loved.

Even the leather jacket, which you’d wrapped around yourself on more than one occasion, held no comfort for you anymore. His scent had worn off a long time ago.

He was simply fading away, and you hated it.

You longed for a resolution. 

You could see it in your mind; he would walk in, and you would ask him to have a seat on the couch, and you would tell him that it was over. The sleepless nights could be someone else’s for a change, because you weren’t getting any younger and you needed some stability.

You needed some _effort_ from a partner.

Your day passed by like it normally would for a Saturday spent alone. The sun got higher in the sky as you checked off a few errands and grabbed lunch at a little café that you’d become a regular at. _Table for one? Yes, thank you._

You kept going, though, having gotten this solo act down pretty well by now. 

After a while, the sun dipped lower in the sky, the city lights began to shine, the air became a little cooler, and you finally let yourself think about him again.

Part of the walk home included trudging past the first place you had ever laid eyes on Steve Rogers in person. He’d been jogging past your apartment, looking every bit the handsome superhero you’d seen on the news. Your chest tightened at the memory of him doing a double-take in your direction. He had become so distracted that he nearly fell face-first over a bicycle on the sidewalk.

And yeah, you still felt a little smug that you’d affected him that much just by _existing_.

What happened to _those_ days?

Now he couldn’t even be bothered to wake you up in the next room when he was home for the first time in weeks.

You shook your head, refusing to tarnish such a happy, hilarious memory. If things truly weren’t going to work out, you were damn determined to at least stay friends. He was such a good man, he _at least_ deserved that sort of closure.

The stairwell of your building was haunted by the ghosts of the two of you racing up to your floor ( _first one there gets to pick the movie!)_ , and of him reaching for your hand the first time ( _see, this isn’t so bad, is it?)._ Even the landing near your front door brought back memories of all the times he wasn’t willing to wait until you were inside to kiss you, instead pressing you against the wall feverishly before his lips covered yours ( _I want you…)_.

Your heart was aching by the time you opened the door and went back inside.

Something was off again, though.

He was back.

Since the living room and kitchen were empty, you moved as quietly as possibly to the bedroom door, even though his heightened sense of hearing probably alerted him to your presence the second you got to the top of the stairs.  

He was there, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, and he made no move to look at you even when you stood in the doorway and waited.

Now there was a choice before you, and while your instincts told you to sleep on the couch that night, you moved forward into the darkened room and around to the other side of the bed.

It would be so much work, and he might not even be interested anymore, but you had to know for sure if there was anything left…if a future would be possible in those circumstances, even as friends. 

You gave him one last chance as you paused at the side of the bed, waiting in case he wanted to protest, to reject you and tell you _not tonight_ or something.

He didn’t move a muscle…didn’t even blink.

You slipped off your shoes and crawled on top of the messy sheets until you were on your side facing him, though you didn’t reach out for him just yet.

His hair was longer, you noted, and he had a beard that was sort of dark and messy. It made him look dangerous, a little wilder than you were used to seeing.

God, you _loved_ it.

After a minute, he wordlessly lifted his arm in an open, unspoken truce. You almost immediately tucked yourself against his body, letting your free arm wrap around his stomach as you pressed your head gently to his chest.

You heard his heartbeat, that’s how silent it was in the room.

It got you thinking about that sound and how much you’d missed it over the last few weeks. It made you think of the first night you’d spent with him, curled around him after an intimate moment, listening as his racing heart tried desperately to calm itself.

You thought about all the heartbeats you’d shared with him…all of your own heartbeats that were skipped because he smiled at you or kissed you, or you saw him across the room.

You wondered how you ever got to a place where someone’s heartbeat meant so much to you.

There, inside your chest, a tiny flicker of hope was starting to form. He was there, wasn’t he? He’d reciprocated. 

He was holding you again, _wasn’t he_?

The flicker grew a little stronger as his heartbeat got a little louder.

Steve Freakin’ Rogers’ arm tightened around you, and a second later you felt his lips place a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

Your self-preservation instincts were screaming inside your head by then, but his heartbeat did its best to drown it all out. This was _your_ Steve Rogers, the man you’d fallen so deeply in love with that you’d promised to never lose sight of that love even in the darkest of moments.

That promise sparked some electric courage as you shifted to meet his gaze.

His blue eyes looked back at yours, searching in the dark for an echo, a sign…

…for that flicker of _hope_.

Your smile ignited.


End file.
